What is it about me
that stops you from seeing
the good in these bones, in this body,
in this skin so black
that it gives you heart attacks
to the point that you feel the need
to attack our hearts, our chests, our arms,
our backs with your weapons of hate.
"Please","stop", "wait"
are all foreign to you
when uttered by these big lips
on this black face.
Perhaps, that is all you see.
A black face.
But I encourage you,
better yet, I demand you
to expand your vision
and see through this skin,
yes, the one with all the melanin,
the one that you wish you were in,
and gaze upon my soul.
I am told by the likes of you
that my time is limited,
but we see different signs in the sky,
you and I,
for my ancestors tell me
it is time for me to fly.
So, once you unlock these chains,
or even if you refuse
and continue to televise my pain,
one day I will rejuvenate
and I will spread my wings
and I will fly.

I live in your love in the same way that I live in my skin, my love.

my mother traded her body for a future tense. my mother gave her flesh as ransom for a life cancer held captive. it wants what makes her woman. she obliges. she holds her body the way she has known it one last time and i can see the halls filling up with water. my eyes are losing their salt as her wounds seem to be finding it. she finds pain and it finds her worthy. i don't know what god finds her a landscape worthy of deserting but it calls her chest exodus. her body, so full of blood and bread and water and wine and everything else that makes her a covenant. her body, a body of water, of hydrogen and oxygen and intention and breath and everything else that makes her alive. my mother is alive, past, present, and future tense.

I wish I could tell you
That I’m no longer afraid of failure.
The truth is,

I’m more afraid of it now than I was.
Those years ago.
The only difference is,
I’ve got nothing left.
No one looking up to me,
Or counting on me.

Or loving me.
The future is empty
The past: A story
My future is bleak
While the past is a dream.